Not Yet Titled
by Black Sheep Apostor
Summary: If you are a truly jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage female, will going to Middle-Earth really change your life's philosophy?
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I have a fairly sufficient IQ, however, my brilliance would have been exhausted simply writing the title page of **The Fellowship of the Ring** Tolkien's brilliance will long outshine any I might possibly possess.   
In short: I'm quite simply not J.R.R Tolkien, and thus his works do not belong to me in any way shape or form. I am simply borrowing and degrading them.   
  
  
  
  
Hello, and welcome to my little piece of Fanfiction.net! Now, why am I here, you may ask? It's a complicated question, with an equally complicated answer. You see, I am here to write another Modern Teenager in Middle-Earth. Yes, I hear those groans.   
As you may well know, there are many stories about jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage females coming to Middle-Earth. But, since I am truly, truly jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage female I find many of these stories are a bit off the mark. Now, I know that not everyone writing these stories is jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage female, and I don't really hold anything against them. But they still seem to be a little off the mark to me.  
In so many of them, it seems like as soon as they get kissed by one of the more ... attractive male characters, they suddenly change their whole philosohpy of life. Or, as soon as they arrive in the Shire/Rivendell/Wherever, their life is perfect. In my opinion, a truly jaded, bitter, and cynical person would be the exact same person they are in Middle-Earth as they are in Earth.   
Now, to expedite the point. I'm writing this to see if I can hopefully do it right. It's not a direct self-insert, but I predict that I'll be drawing **heavily** off my life experience. Also, I'm not quite sure yet whether or not this will be book or movie based, or a combination of the two. But to forewarn you, most likely movie.   
Please note that this is my first attempt at anything so magnanimous. I am not fond of flames, or cryptic reviews that leave you puzzled as to what the other person means (is any writer here?) but I am expecting them.   
  
  
So now you've read (and most likely been bored to tears by) my explanation of this whole business, I believe that you can decide whether or not you would like to read this.   
  
  
Before we go on, I have a couple of simple housekeeping duties to complete:  
The double set of * marks (**) will be used for things in italics, such as thoughts.   
  
I will occasionally use songs in the story, and this chapter isn't exempt. The song featured in this chapter is from:  
Artist: Eels  
Album: Beautiful Freak  
Title: Novocain For The Soul  
  
And now, finally, after this long and tedious initial reading, the chapter.  
  
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Chapter One  
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Life is hard and so am I  
You better give me something  
So I don't die  
Novocain for the soul  
Before I sputter out  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
My bed is an oasis of calm and thought, where the world can't get me. I used it more for meditation that for sleep. And that was where I was now. I was sitting on it, running the edge of a pair of scissors over the sensitive part of my feet, just above the soles and below the tops. I wasn't drawing blood, or trying to. Just stimulating the nerves.   
If you stimulate the nerves of your hands or feet (and there are quite a lot of them in those areas, believe me) by running something sharp over them, it's the most wonderful feeling. It's a spark of ecstasy, a spark of ... life. It makes me feel like I am actually living, like I do truly exist in this black and white, paint by numbers world. It makes me feel that I'm completely alive, that I'm not a ghost or a shadow or some kind of spirit.   
  
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Life is white and I am black  
Jesus and his lawyer  
Are coming back  
Oh my darling will you be here  
Before I sputter out  
  
Guess who's living here  
With the great undead  
This paint by number's life is fucking with my head  
Once again  
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What reason did I really have to be miserable? I could make several self-pitying excuses, such as my obesity or apostasy in regards to the Catholic Church, but the truth is ... I'm a selfish shit. I care too much about myself and not about others. Welcome to Social Darwinism. I sighed and put the scissors back on my desk, where they would look innocent and still be convenient.   
The buzz of the teasing (for lack of a better word) was wonderful beyond a description, but sadly short-lived. I went to get my homework from my backpack, a symbol of slavery to Education and Catholicism that weighed as much as a small elephant.   
I hated St. Francis' Catholic Academy, but if I went somewhere else, I would be just as miserable. St. Francis' bombarded its students with Catholic Doctrine, shoving it down their throats. I was used to the same religious bombardment from my devoutly Catholic father.   
For years, I've dreamed of telling him of my apostasy, but he is a very black-and-white person. To him, things are either right or wrong. And what is "wrong" he has to immediately jump in and correct. I would think that apostasy is most definitely "wrong." My mother knows and understands my plight, but simply advocates a "put up and shut up" approach.   
Well, that "put up and shut up" approach has been killing me slowly, inside to out. But every time I try to speak out, my protests are muffled. So I thus have to keep it all inside. It's like a thousand pound anvil sitting on top of a bell jar of steaming, bubbling liquid. The liquid cannot possibly escape the bell jar, so the bell jar will simply have to implode.  
I know that one day, I'm going to simply implode. Just like that. I'm not going to be able to reach the blessed personal freedom that college will offer.   
  
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Life is good and I feel great  
'Cause mother says I was  
A great mistake  
  
Novocain for the soul  
You better give me something  
To fill the hole  
Before I sputter out   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I come out of my thoughts to realize that I'm standing in months worth of **Time** magazines. I mentally shake myself and head towards the corner I store my backpack in. Unfortunately, that requires me to pass the full length mirror hung on my door.   
Truthfully, if I weren't so obese, I would be pretty. Short, thick dark brown hair, a wonderfully unique shade of green-gray eyes, thick eyelashes, and a suspiciously clear complexion for a fifteen year old. Then you get below the neck. To be found there are one-hundred-plus extra pounds. (I couldn't tell you exactly how many; I stopped even bothering to step on the scale after I reached two-hundred and fifty pounds.) I mouthed the words "I hate you, you nasty, selfish shit" to the mirror and proceeded to get my backpack.   
I then half-heartedly completed the weekend's homework. After that, I changed into my "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish" pajamas and turned off the lights. I set the alarm and crawled into bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. I wondered, as I had on so many other nights, whether I would be able to drag myself out of bed the next morning. I wondered whether I should just plunder the medicine cabinet or something of the like and take the easy way out.   
I knew it was just speculation, though. I'd already considered that path, but had long ago ruled it out as too flashy and melodramatic. Also, there was the small and unbelievably remote hope that maybe there was something far away from here, something better. I rolled over and spent the next two hours quieting my thoughts down so that I could get some sleep. Finally, the blessed release of it came.   
  
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Novocain for the soul  
You better give me something  
To fill the hole  
Before I sputter out   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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**Looks around to find that the readers are fast asleep** Oh, dear. Well, now that I've bored you with my as-of-yet unnamed character's baggage, I'm done. Next chapter should be the whole Middle-Earth-Arrival chapter, which will most likely be a long time in coming. Before then, I would love for you to share your comments, criticisms, or philosophical ramblings...   
  



	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Go see Chapter One. I'm not going to say it again.   
  
Welcome to Chapter Two! **Looks around to see that only three people are reading, all looking bored and sleepy. Sighs. Scowls at the thought of the task she is about to attempt, and then shakes head determinedly** Before we go on, a little housekeeping:  
  
Blue Jedi Hobbit 009: Did I even get the "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish pajamas? ; And what a coincidence. I thought **I** was the only one who'd ever heard of the Eels. Small World...  
  
And, yes, there is another song in this chapter. This time it's:   
  
Artist: Billy Joel  
  
Album: Piano Man  
  
Title: Piano Man  
  
Now. I'm a little shaky with this chapter. I'm not really sure how to do it, in terms of the canon. I'm not looking to create a by-the-book "This-is-probably-how-Tolkien-would-have-gone-about-writing-it" type story, and yet I'm not going to have a "Okay, cool! Hey, Haldir, let's go get a burger!" feel to it.   
  
...I hope.   
  
_________________  
  
Chapter Two  
  
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I woke up and promptly rolled over, hoping to gain another five, ten, maybe even fifteen minutes of sleep.   
  
I promptly thwacked my head on something hard and rough, thus destroying any hope of catching some extra zzzs. I opened my eyes, simply thinking that my cat Cosa had dragged in one helluva twig. Instead of finding the twig, I found the whole damn tree and the forest, too.   
  
I sighed, wondering if maybe I had just slept walked outside and into the woods behind my house. I'd never done that before, but there's a first time for quite a few things. But then again, these were some big ass trees. Nothing like the scruffy little things that dare to call themselves trees I had in my backyard.   
  
I shrugged, and seeing as how nothing was going to be accomplished if I just stood there, took off in the direction I presumed was north. (The closest thing I had ever had to "wilderness survival training" was three days without power.) Well, after an incalculable time of bored wandering, I had accomplished absolutely nothing, save for getting myself dirty and a bit beat up and utterly confused.   
  
I sank down onto a surprisingly comfortable rock. My current situation sucked to high heaven, but on the rose-colored side, anything was better than high school. Surprisingly, the prevailing emotion wasn't fear, like one might think. (I knew that I could survive quite a while without food and I had heard various sources of running water along the way. I figured that I could keep myself alive for a solid month, which should give plenty of time for someone to find me. So I was pretty well sure that the situation would stay stable for at the very least a few days.)   
  
The prevailing emotion was, of all things, boredom. After you see so many different forms of vegetation, they all start to look alike. I racked my brain, trying to think of something to do. The only thing my oh-so-creative mind could come up with was singing. Now, logic told me two things:  
  
One - That someone or something harmful could hear the singing and realize that it was coming from fresh meat  
  
Two - I sound like a dying farm animal when trying to sing.   
  
I just decided to screw logic and do it anyway, as the boredom was getting to be nerve-wracking. Sorting through the various songs I had stored away in my head, I finally came upon a fairly agreeable one.   
  
"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday  
  
The regular crowd shuffles in  
  
There's an old man sitting next to me  
  
Makin' love to his tonic and gin  
  
He says, 'Son, can you play me a memory?  
  
I'm not really sure how it goes  
  
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete  
  
When I wore a younger man's clothes'  
  
La la la, de de da  
  
La la, de de da da da  
  
Sing us a song, you're the piano man  
  
Sing us a song tonight  
  
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody  
  
And you've got us feelin' alright  
  
Now John at the bar is a friend of mine  
  
He gets me my drinks for free  
  
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke  
  
But there's someplace that he'd rather be  
  
He says, 'Bill, I believe this is killing me.'  
  
As the smile ran away from his face  
  
'Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star  
  
If I could get out of this place'  
  
Oh, la la la, de de da  
  
La la, de de da da da  
  
Now Paul is a real estate novelist  
  
Who never had time for a wife  
  
And he's talkin' with Davy who's still in the navy  
  
And probably will be for life  
  
And the waitress is practicing politics  
  
As the businessmen slowly get stoned  
  
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness  
  
But it's better than drinkin' alone  
  
Sing us a song, you're the piano man  
  
Sing us a song tonight  
  
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody  
  
And you've got us feelin' alright  
  
It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday  
  
And the manager gives me a smile  
  
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see  
  
To forget about life for a while  
  
And the piano, it sounds like a carnival  
  
And the microphone smells like a beer  
  
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar  
  
And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"  
  
Oh, la la la, de de da  
  
La la, de de da da da  
  
Sing us a song, you're the piano man  
  
Sing us a song tonight  
  
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody  
  
And you've got us feelin' alright"  
  
I sighed yet again. Somehow that had made me feel a bit better about things. But that bit was still only a tiny fraction. I was still confused and pissed off, the latter stemming from the former. Seeing as how no-one had shot at me yet and that nothing had eaten me, I decided that I would be okay as long as I moved. So my little woodland adventure continued.   
  
Some unspecified time later (that felt like forever, but one can never tell with these types of things...suffice to say that it was over fifteen minutes?) I almost walked right into a sharp, pointy thing. An arrowhead to be precise. I looked up to see that the guy pointing it at me looked like a Renaissance Faire escapee, all earthy colored clothes and leather boots and long hair and whatnot. Maybe he'd gotten lost.  
  
"Look, I don't know where the Renaissance Fair is, but it's not here." He simply blinked at me. Maybe he wasn't a native speaker of English, then.   
  
"Habla Ustead Espanol?" Hopefully that would be it. I was in Spanish One, which would at least give me enough vocabulary to communicate. But, alas, no dice. Figuring that neither of us could be of any help to the other, I turned to go.   
  
Only to find more Renaissance Faire escapees, all of which were pointing arrows at me, too. Being the cynical person I was, I snorted in their faces.   
  
"Oh, please! Be logical! I am obviously in the worst shape of my life, I'm unarmed," to prove this, I held out my hands so they could see them, "I'm lost, and I'm generally confused. What chance do I have against some clearly fit, armed people who know where're they're going?" This appeared to have the desired effect. One of the men stepped forward and said something in a language that was quite clearly not English to the others, who dropped their weapons. That was an improvement.   
  
"We are terribly sorry, milady," he said in what definitely was English. I wrote off the "milady" as simply role-playing. I don't know why, seeing as how I didn't look the part, but the Renaissance Faire type can be like that. "Tell me, what is your name?"  
  
"Fiona Pizzacorroli. Pleased to meet you. And your name would be...?"  
  
"Airegolloin, Son of Morelin. May I be of assistance to you, Lady Fiona?"  
  
"Sure. Just point me to the nearest highway, and I can probably hitch to where I want to go from there." I had drawn a blank, apparently.   
  
"What is a highway, and what exactly would you hitch to once you were there?" Okay, that was too much role-playing.   
  
"Okay, look, I know you Renaissance Faire types like your role-playing, but I'm kind of in need of some help. Just tell me how to get to the nearest road, and I'll find my way home from there."  
  
"The nearest road is not far, Lady Fiona, but it only leads to Rivendell."  
  
"What is that? A backwoods motel or something of the like?" I had drawn a blank. Clearly, if I wanted to get home, I had to play by his rules.   
  
"An inn, Lord Airegolloin." I said curtly. He looked insulted.   
  
"Rivendell is far more than a simple inn."  
  
"So it may be. Let me ask you: Does it have a telephone?"  
  
"No, I do not believe there is a...'telephone' to be found in Rivendell, Lady Fiona."  
  
**This does pose a slight problem, dunnit?**   
  
"Is there any way of contacting the outside world, then?"   
  
"Yes. You can walk outside through a door. Or a window, if you prefer." Airegolloin replied, a bit of mockery glinting in his eyes.   
  
"What I mean is, would I have any way of contacting my parents in Annapolis, Maryland?"  
  
"Pray tell, where is that?"   
  
**Okaaay. This'll be something to tell the grandkids. Sleepwalking to another country!**  
  
"The United States, Lord Airegolloin."  
  
"I am sorry, but I do not know where that is, Lady Fiona."   
  
**Jeez, where am I, anyways?! The only places that I can see not having heard of the US are some of the more remote provinces in Africa. And this doesn't look like Africa.** I figured I'd try a different approach.   
  
"And where am I, pray tell?"  
  
"You are in Rivendell, Lady Fiona."  
  
"And pray tell, where is that?"  
  
"You have never heard of Rivendell?"  
  
"Not once." I answered truthfully.  
  
"Then, pray tell, have you ever heard of Middle-Earth?"  
  
"Not once..."   
  
**Not good. I'm stuck in a place I've never even heard of, with no phone and no way of contacting my parents. Or, in others words...  
  
I'M ROYALLY SCREWED!!!**   
  
  
  
  
  
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I'm sorry for the abrupt ending, but I don't think I have any more in me…  
  
Questions? Comments? Philosophical ramblings?  
  
I'd love to hear them all! 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Right there in Chapter One.   
  
As I've said before somewhere or the other, I'm just a bumbling author who really has no clue what she's trying to do with this modest story. In spite of that, I've received so much positive feedback that it's almost overwhelming. I'd just like you all to know that every word of every review is appreciated.   
  
Blue Jedi Hobbit 009: Thank you for your continued support. Speaking from one author to another, I'm sure you know what it means to me. And yes, the humor is liberal, if a bit dead-pan, isn't it?  
  
Kaori Lothelen: I'm happy to hear the change is welcome. I thought things needed a bit of a twist, and concluded that if I wanted to see it right, I'd have to do it myself. Thank you for reviewing.  
  
Camellia Gamgee-Took: In all the languages of the world, how many ways are there to say "Thank you?" However many there are, I shout them all to you on bended knee. I haven't seen my style of writing anywhere, which I suppose would make it a bit of a rarity, wouldn't it? No, I don't take that statement as an insult. Quite the contrary, actually. And I do agree with you about many writers of this type of story. To be fair, there are some gems among the junk, but there's quite a lot of sifting to do to find them. Personally, I'm amazed that more people don't bother to use spell checkers or the edit features that offers, like being able to proof-read your story before you post it, and then being able to replace chapters with new content. (If anyone wishes to know how to do the latter, email me and I'll send you step-by-step instructions.) And thank you for your other praise. Believe me, none of it goes unappreciated.   
  
Elven Cherry Blossom: I'm glad you like Fiona. I was almost a bit worried that no one would like her. Which would not be good, because people really couldn't care less about a character that they hate. Thanks for the review.  
  
Legato-Naraku-LOTR-Matrix: I thought I'd make Fiona on the chunky side, because I've seen so many of these that have the "Not-too-thin-but-Lord-not-fat" descriptions, which are usually a sort of prequel to silky-smooth hair, eyes that shine like diamonds, etc, etc . Keep up the good work on Lonely Thoughts of Life. I'm enjoying it very much.   
  
Before we go on, I would like to give my "mission statement," so to speak, of what I would like to do with this story:   
  
How many biographies have been written about, say ... Shakespeare? Let's go with a random estimate of 3,000. Now, the 3001st biography will still be on this man named William Shakespeare, and will presumably follow a fairly standard format. However, this biography might be completely distinguishable from all the other ones, in that it offers a different perspective of the man William Shakespeare. My hope is for this humble fanfiction to be the "3001st biography of Shakespeare."   
  
Did I lose anyone? I'm sorry if I did. Just read it thoughtfully a few times and then see what happens.   
  
There's a repeat of the first verse of "Piano Man" in this chapter, as well as the first verse of: Song: Shadow Stabbing Artist: Cake Album: Comfort Eagle  
  
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Chapter Three

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Airegolloin had a look of complete bewilderment on his face, like I had said with the fullest of conviction that the grass was indeed blue and that the sky was green. He turned his back and then started rapidly speaking to his companions in whatever their language was, most likely narrating the highlights of our little chat. Comfortable that I was not going to be stuck full of arrows in the immediate future, I took the time to examine these esoteric people closely. I started with Airegolloin, as that seemed fairly logical. He was wearing light tan boots that looked like they were made of animal hide. They had a definite home-made look to them - he surely didn't buy them at Wal-mart. Moving on up, I saw that he was wearing mossy green leggings that looked like long spandex that were one size bigger than Airegolloin needed. Now, things got interesting above the waist.

He was wearing a light but durable dirty white shirt, with a dark brown over-shirt that went to his elbows. The whole wardrobe looked completely homemade, although I wasn't about to go digging through his shirt to find a tag. Of course, if I thought this was fun, what I saw above the neck was a real treat. Airegolloin had long auburn colored hair, which had various sized braids running through it. (It was a little disconcerting to find a guy with prettier hair than I could ever hope to have.) He must have felt my eyes boring holes into his head, because he turned and gave me a questioning look. This enabled me to get a look at his face, which convinced me that he must be running away from the tyranny of the male model industry. His complexion was completely perfect, the kind of perfect that no human being should be able to gain, even with the aid of cosmetic surgery and whatnot.

There were no moles, freckles, blackheads, whiteheads, pimples, etc . The mouth and nose were shaped perfectly, no visible flaws whatsoever. The eyebrows were arched perfectly, with no stray hairs, and the eyelashes were all long and delicate. The whites of Airegolloin's eyes were clear, and both iris were a blazing, electric green.

_Man, this guy has got to think that he's God's gift to women…_

I smiled and shook my head. Airegolloin stared at me for another moment in an odd sort of way, and then turned back to his little conversation. I stood politely, although I was getting bored quick. Maybe if I gave them a dose of my grating voice, they'd get the message?  
  
"Adjectives on the typewriter

He moves his words

Like a prize fighter

The frenzied pace of

The mind inside the cell"   
  
Airegolloin apparently got the message. He said something to his companions that had harsh intent to it, but I don't think that anything said in such a beautiful language could really sound all that harsh. He then addressed me.

"Come, Lady Fiona," I was getting annoyed with the "Lady" prefix, but figured I'd humor him. "We will guide you to Rivendell." I knew that that was my cue to inject some witty gem of sarcasm, but it's hard for the effect to come across completely when wearing banana yellow Dr. Seuss pajama pants. So on we went. This crowd was obviously fit, as well as not tripping over every other tree root. Unlucky for me, I wasn't one of them. After awhile, Airegolloin caught on to the fact that the poor suburbanite was stumbling, so he fell back to walk with me, even at the snail-like pace it must have been for him. I had to give it to him, at least he didn't make a big fuss about it. I'd always hated being a charity case.  
  
"Not used to walking, Lady Fiona?"

"Are you mocking me?"

"Not in the least." He said earnestly.

"That's good." We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. I'd never really learned the art of how to keep the small talk going.

"If I may be so bold as to ask…"

"Shoot." Apparently that request had drawn a blank.

"Go ahead." I corrected.

"What was that you were singing?"

"Just a song."

"But what song?"

"Not one you would know." I had to keep myself in check and not snap at the poor guy. It wasn't an easy task.

"Just tell me. I might."

"Nope. Durr...no."

"Please?" I Figured that it might shut him up if I answered.

" 'Shadow Stabbing.' " I had drawn the blank look I was expecting.

"And might I inquire the origins of such a song?"

"Band called Cake. I told you that you wouldn't know it."

"And what of the earlier song?" I blinked slowly.

"Earlier song…?"

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday

The regular crowd shuffles in

There's an old man sitting next to me

Makin' love to his tonic and gin"  
  
Airegolloin sang. Of course a beautiful person would have a beautiful singing voice. But such a beautiful voice didn't fit the pain-dulled voice of Billy Joel.

"So, how long were you stalking me?" I said, a slight bit pissed. I shouldn't have expected anything less, but the idea of people with sharp pointy things stalking me around the woods in a place that only the powers-that-be could name wasn't comforting.

"Since we first heard you. We thought you might be a hurt animal."

_Should I be insulted? I think that might be the most vague insult since Jack White's sneer of "Now we're a family!" on_ Elephant_…_

"And after I heard your singing, I knew it was someone who shouldn't be here." He sounded almost arrogant.

"You know, I think I knew that I shouldn't be here either. What a coincidence." I replied, with just the right amount of sarcasm. He looked taken aback.

"I'm sorry?" He said, as if he wasn't quite sure he should be apologizing. I just gave him a bland look of the "whatever are you saying that for?"

"It's nothing." I said, reinforcing that there might indeed be something he needed to apologize for. "Tell me, what do you foresee my immediate future containing? I hope it includes a hairbrush and a bath."

"I should think Lord Elrond would be gracious enough to grant those requests, Lady."

"Good. Tell me, who is this man?"

"Man? Lord Elrond is no mere man."

"Then a woman…? Then why do you refer to this woman as Lord Elrond?"

"Lady, with all due respect, no woman could ever command the power Lord Elrond possesses." _Is this an appropriate time for a "sexist pig" comment? Or would these guys' egos be so offended that they would make me a pincushion? Hmm…better not risk it._

"But---"

"Lord Elrond is an elf." I simply stared at Airegolloin, struck dumb. Aren't Elves supposed to be little fairy-like things with wings and pointy ears?

"An elf…" I repeated dumbly.

"An elf." He confirmed. One person can only believe so much. I can believe that these people really dig their Renaissance Faire. I can believe that Rivendell might be a perfectly acceptable name for a place in the middle of nowhere. But…Elves?

"Right." I said, doubtingly. Airegolloin laughed. I couldn't exactly tell, but it seemed like it might have contained some amusement at my confusion. Did this guy really need to give me much more cause to be annoyed?

"If you do not believe for yourself, than see my ears." He peeled the hair back to show his ears. They were fairly normal, all delicacy aside, for the most part. But where most ears would round off, his kept going until they ended in a tip. These were some top quality fake ears. So, seeing as how he had made the opening move, I poked the tip. Finding it to be as real and as solid as the flesh of my own ears, I continued over the ear, prodding for a seam or a line or any irregularity that would give away its plastic origins. After minutes of this prodding, I found absolutely nothing. "Are you satisfied, Lady?" Airegolloin asked He didn't seem perturbed in the least that my fingers had basically just gone digging through one of his ears.

"I suppose I am." I noted the slight bit of doubt and confusion and almost panic that my voice held. It was an accurate portrayal of how I felt. I still held on to the fact that I was probably in backwoods country with a bunch of Renaissance enthusiasts, but a thread of doubt was beginning to weave its way in.

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As far as plot goes, I'm fairly convinced that this was not the most exciting of chapters. However, this was a chapter of exposition/characterization/description/etc . While those things are never all that fun to write and certainly not to read, they must be done. Now, Airegolloin. I'm sure my description of him must have been better than any prescription sleep aid, but I figured that it was a way of both conveying Fiona's sense of bewilderment and setting him apart from the other elves. The chapters in this story are by ear, but I have a sense that he'll be important later. I'm sure some of you might be wondering what in the world possessed me to give an elf red hair. For one, I figured that it would be a good idea to have someone half-familiar Fiona could easily spot among a group of unfamiliar people. Secondly, on a more general basis, if you take a look at Arwen, you'll notice that she doesn't look much like other elves. So thus, there should be some aesthetic diversity among elves, or so one would think.   
  
Questions? Comments? Philosophical ramblings?


	4. Chapter Four

Let me start off by saying that, yes, I do realize that this update has been a long time coming. However, I'm not going to make any excuses, as that is just a waste of words. And now, on to better things.  
  
All these gracious reviews are starting to make me think I can actually write. I would like to thank you all once again. I thought that I would be lucky to receive three reviews. So to see that I have fourteen on the first three chapters of what I hope will become many chapters really makes me feel wonderful.  
  
Anitsyrhk: Yes, I've gotten frustrated at the Deus Ex Machina solution that Middle-Earth seems to be for many of these girls. To me, it seems that Middle-Earth would be simply "a whole new place with a whole new set of problems." I'm sure that there are probably many improvements to be made, but thank you all the same.  
  
Emerald Griffin: Here's to a (hopefully) long and fruitful partnership!  
  
Willow Myst: It's always amazed me the wonderful way Billy Joel has been able to convey pain simply by his voice alone. And I hope you'll find this story very different from the others.  
  
Gralin Lightningsinger: I think it's universal with all Catholic schools, really. I'm glad I can convey my view on that well. I think Fiona's cynicism is what makes her so down-to-earth. From what I know of how the story is going to proceed, Fiona doesn't seem to lose that. Thank you for your glowing review, by the way.  
  
Diablita: Is there ever really a good time for a pun? From what people have told me, they seem to find Fiona very down-to-earth and even fairly likable. Which is a real blessing to me, because nobody will read a story with a main character they can't stand. I find your "refreshingly bitter" comment very  
  
interesting, as people tend not to combine that words. (I don't mean to insult with that, even though it sounds borderline-insulting for some reason I can't quite put my finger on.) I've always thought that if you can't laugh at yourself, what can you laugh at?  
  
Donnamira: Thank you very much.  
  
Prophetic Fire: Thanks for reading, I always appreciate it. I'm not sure I said something like that, but I'm scanning the previous chapters for it and if and when I find it I'll correct it. Thank you though - it always helps to have people on the look out for things like that, that are so easy to miss and yet can really make things messy. About Airegolloin...I confess, I cheated. I type in a name on the name generator and used what came up. I'm completely clueless as to what it may actually mean or if the name even fits his personality. Thank you for the complement of my writing style. I really do try to accomplish  
  
that happy medium in my writing style. I really like your story - it's doing something new and different, which is always nice.  
  
Once again, I would like to thank you all for your support.  
  
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Before I am finished with my housekeeping duties, a debt must be repaid. Emerald Griffin has ever so kindly promoted my story, above and beyond anything I would have expected. Her story Bardic Solitaire runs along a similar line to this one, and should be enjoyed by anyone who enjoys this one. It can be linked via her review, or, more ?storyid=1622462&chapter=1  
  
(Be sure to replace the signs with the backslash marks you usually find on a link. You know seems to have this problem with links and thus strips them.)  
  
Bardic Solitaire summary: A modern Druidess is perfectly happy where she is, playing at medieval faires with her loving friends, taking her harp and her voice across her state. When she skips across the world barrier on the way home from playing at a faire, she is forced to rely on her wits and her music to keep her alive, while she falls into a downward spiral of loneliness and despair. This is the story of the Warrior Bard Aoife, who grieved ceaselessly for what was forever lost to her.  
  
Excerpt: "The bedraggled bard had begun to sneeze when she finally gave up and decided to try to find some place where she could be partially protected. Of course, as soon as she stopped and began to inspect her immediate surrounding as closely as she could when she had rain dripping off of her eyelashes and directly onto her eyeballs, she found said eyeballs to be perilously close to being skewered. Needless to say, she stopped moving her head. And, perhaps, it is also rather obvious that that was the exact moment when she lost her tenuous mental calm. She backed up a little, when she felt something prodding her neck area through her soaked hood. She glanced around again, slowly, seeing only a group of hooded figures  
  
carrying bows.  
  
'Crap.' Was all she said.  
  
She attempted to shuffle forward, and was stopped. She attempted to shuffle backwards again, and was stopped there too. The same happened when she attempted to shuffle to either side. Finally, exasperated at he completely illogical situation, she sat down in what seemed like three inches of freezing cold mud."  
  
(The stuff in quotation marks is obviously not mine, by the way.)  
  
It's really a fantastic read. I promise I'm getting there. There is a mention of Alan Alda in this chapter. For those of you who don't know, he is Hawkeye on the MASH TV series. And as for Rivendell, it's pretty much movie based.  
  
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Chapter Four

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Neither the "elf" or I were able to get a conversation started, and we thus continued our hike in silence, which gave me some time to sort out all the thoughts bouncing through my mind. __

_Middle-Earth... It's a name I know I should know, but couldn't tell you for the life of me why. Like Alan Alda. Whom I still have yet to Goggle._

After quite a while of hiking, during which I was beginning to wonder if we were just being lead around in circles, we finally came to our destination. It was the perfect blend of form and function, a graceful hacienda-like place with one main building and other buildings that were built, not over nature, but around and even in cooperation with it. It was an environmentalist Mecca that seemed to be a perfectly pleasant place to live...for about a week.

"So where do you Renaissance types get the money to have a place like that?" I asked Airegolloin, amazed, "It must have taken quite a chunk of change to build!"

"I'll take that as your own mad way of giving a complement." I decided to ignore the mad part - I'd been called worse than that by myself.

"And where are we, again?" I asked casually, hoping to lure him into telling me without thinking that we were in Virginia or someplace like that. "

Rivendell, Lady Fiona. You might also know it as Imladris or the Last Homely House." No dice. But this "Lady" stuff was going to drive me up the Last Homely walls if he kept it up.  
  
"Look, I appreciate the Renaissance courtesy you're extending to me, but it's grating on my nerves like sandpaper, so drop it. This is the twenty-first century, after all. It's perfectly acceptable to call people by first name alone."

"Fiona," he said, test driving using only my first name. (It looked like he was trying to speak with his mouth full of cotton balls) "what system of reckoning do you use?"

"Come again?"

"How do you figure that we're in the twenty-first century?"

"Er..." I said, "It's the year 2004 Anno-Domine, right?"

"I'm afraid you are mistaken."

"Beg pardon?"

"It's the year 3014 of the Third Age."

"That doesn't mean beans to me." By this time we were standing right outside the main building, and Airegolloin was able to wiggle his way out of talking to me by calling over another elf.

"This is Manquarewen, a maidservant. She'll be more than happy to take care of your needs." I eyed Manquarewen. She had loose long blonde hair, brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black, and flawless porcelain skin. She was wearing a simple blue shift that you could just as easily wear to a party as dust down a room in. "Manquarewen, this is Fiona." Airegolloin still looked a little awkward not adding some sort of prefix to my name. I was trying to think of a prefix that might make him feel a little less awkward, but couldn't think of anything that would work. "Fiona, this is Manquarewen." I nodded to Manquarewen politely. She gave me an encouraging smile and took my hand and started leading me away. Thankfully, no one saw us on our trek. I was already embarrassed enough to be walking around this elegant place in Dr. Seuss pajamas with morning breath and messy hair.

We came to our destination, which was found in one of the buildings surrounding Rivendell. It was a room that resembled a bedroom you might find in a motel. It had a full sized bed, a chest of drawers with a mirror hanging over them, a folding screen in one corner (to dress behind, I assumed) and an open balcony overlooking quite a bit of Rivendell.

"This will be your room for however long you may stay here, Lady Fiona." I appreciated how courteous she was being, but having everyone in this place call me "Lady" was getting old. "Please, just call me Fiona."

"Are you sure of that? It is not very courteous."

"You won't offend me." "

But I might seem impolite to others." Ah. So that was it. This time I managed to think of something that would make both of us feel a bit more comfortable.

"Why don't you call me ma'am?"

"Very well then, Ma'am Fiona." I settled for that.

"Is there anything you need?" I hated to ask, but there were quite a few things I needed.

"Uhm…Could you possibly get me a hairbrush and something to tie my hair back with, and a toothbrush and toothpaste? And would you be able to find any clothing to fit me? And where can I get a bath around here?"

"I will do my best to find the items you want. I think I may be able to find clothing to fit you. And as for the bath, you have two options. I could draw you a private bath or you could use the public baths." Public. Baths. Two words that should never go together.

"I would appreciate it greatly if you could draw me a private bath. And thank you very much for your help." Manquarewen nodded to me politely and left. I sat down on the bed (which turned out to be quite comfortable) and tried to work my way through the mess I'd gotten myself into.

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	5. Chapter Five

Yes, I realize I haven't updated in forever. If you don't like it, go screw yourself for all I care.   
  
And now, the regular responses to reviews.   
  
Jazmin3 Firewing: Thank you. I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all. Heheh…so much for updating soon.   
  
Prophetic Fire: Hope your Grandfather feels better. You'll be glad to know that I finally was able to spot and correct my "elves" reference in Chapter Three. Thanks for pointing it out. It gets a bit difficult when you, as the author, forget that you have knowledge not yet imparted to the character you're writing about, wouldn't you say so?   
  
(This was a Chapter One review, but I felt compelled to reply.)  
  
Walker Rhys: Yes…it's not exactly the most conventional use for scissors, is it? But it does show a certain side of Fiona that might have been neglected, I agree. And thank you for your comments on my bio - I appreciated them. It always makes someone glad to know that their work has an impact, doesn't it?  
  
All right. I was looking back over previous chapters after Prophetic Fire's heads-up about the premature elves reference, and was noticing the casual way that Airegolloin treated Manquarewen. And in case anyone asks - I'll find a reason for it. Maybe they're friends, maybe they're lovers, who knows? I'll think of something.  
  
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Chapter Five  
  
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I stood admiring the view of Rivendell, hoping to see a hint of modern technology, such as a plane flying by overhead, or a glimpse of a highway, or even just to hear the familiar music of suburban traffic. But no. It was the kind of quiet you'd expect to hear in the countryside.   
  
_I'll bet the nights here are gorgeous. Must be able to see so many stars…_  
  
That thought brought back memories of cheesy night-time campfires at the nature camp my middle-school had made an annual pilgrimage to. I smiled. But that smile went away as I realized I was, in essence, stranded in this European fairytale-like landscape. My situation could have been a lot worse, but this wasn't exactly my number one choice of conditions to be stranded in.   
  
After this, of course, came the inevitable Now what? My first thought was to start hoarding provisions for the journey home, but that would be asinine if I didn't even know where I was or what I needed to take. So my next best bet was to snoop around - there's a pretty good chance that a place like this would have a library. And if Rivendell did have a library, there was a chance that said library just might contain maps and atlases. They wouldn't be the most up-to-date maps and atlases, but they would hopefully give me a general idea of where I was. After that I'd have to do some reading up, just to see if I could find anything useful. Then, after all that research, is when I'd have to start hoarding provisions, knowing where I am and what I'd need to have to get home successfully. Just as I had reasoned all this out, there was a knock at the door.   
  
"Come in!" I requested. The door opened to reveal none other than Manquarewen, hauling a very large copper basin.  
  
"Is that the tub?" I asked as politely as I could.   
  
"Yes it is, Ma'am Fiona." Manquarewen answered, taking a few things out of the tub and setting them on the dresser. She then courteously moved the tub behind the screen.   
  
"These are the things you asked for, Ma'am Fiona." Manquarewen said, answering my unvoiced question. "I am going to have to fill your tub with hot water from the kitchens. Would you like to assist?" Surprisingly, there was not the least amount of sarcasm in Manquarewen's inquiry. Sensing a major learning opportunity, I responded in the affirmative.   
  
"Yes I would, thank you very much." I followed Manquarewen to the kitchens, which weren't as far from my room as I was expecting. For some unknown reason, the kitchens were buzzing with activity, and so I didn't get to study them as intensely as I liked, but I was able to see enough to realize that the kitchens were just like the rest of Rivendell - true-blue Renaissance style. In other words, none of the appliances came from Sears. Manquarewen lead me to an iron stove that looked like one you might find in a log cabin. On the aforementioned stove there was a good-sized iron pot full of water. Manquarewen stared at this pot, looking like she was waiting for something.   
  
"Uh…Lady Manquarewen?" I asked, fumbling with the "Lady Manquarewen" bit. Adjusting to Renaissance civility can be a bit difficult when you come from a place where it's considered polite to refrain from saying "Hey, you!" when trying to get someone else's attention.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am Fiona?" Manquarewen seemed to have infinite patience with me, as a seasoned adult might have with a young child.   
  
"What exactly are we doing?"  
  
"We are waiting for the water to boil. Then, once it does, we will take it to your room and pour it into the tub I brought in for you. After that, we will repeat the process the tub is full."   
  
_No wonder the never cared so much for bathing way-back-when, what with all the work that goes into it…_  
  
Manquarewen saw the look on my face and smiled.   
  
"It truly does not take as long as it sounds." I smiled and nodded, getting the feeling that I was going to be doing a lot of that in the not-too-distant future. The water began to boil, and so Manquarewen took the pot off the stove and began the trek back to my room, expertly dodging around all and sundry in the kitchen. We made it to my room with the water miraculously still in the pot. Manquarewen went and poured the hot water into the copper tub. Then, instead of heading back to the kitchens, she stepped outside via the balcony and began trekking through the vegetation of Rivendell with the air of knowing exactly where she was heading.   
  
I followed her like a little lost puppy, hoping not too many people were able to see me in my Dr. Seuss pajama pants. I made a mental note to ask Manquarewen about a change of clothes. We arrived at a decent-sized stream that was rushing along at a pace that looked like it would have made for good white-water rafting - not that I knew anything about such pursuits. Manquarewen drew a pot-full of water from the stream and heading off again. And again I followed her like a little lost puppy.   
  
I was going to have to learn my way around this place eventually, not being keen on having to hang on to the apron-strings of Rivendell's residents for the length of my stay. Manquarewen walked off, and a few yards later we found ourselves in the kitchens yet again. Whoever had built Rivendell built it with one side of the kitchens opening up to the stream we had been at previously, which I guess made sense. You'd have to find alternative methods of getting to water when you didn't have the convenience of modern plumbing. Oh dear…If they didn't have modern plumbing for their kitchens, then there was no way these people would have modern plumbing for their toilets. Ye-Olden-Outhouse, here I come…  
  
Manquarewen found her way to a stove and set the pot on it to boil. So that was all there was to it then - stove-tub-stream. I could handle that. And besides, I needed to ask Manquarewen for a few more things…I really hope I don't wear out her patience with me.   
  
"Lady Manquarewen?"  
  
"Yes, Ma'am Fiona?"   
  
"I think I'll be able to fill my tub now, thank you very much. But could I ask you for a few more things?"  
  
"Certainly, Ma'am Fiona."  
  
"Would you be able to find towels, soap, and a washbasin for me? And maybe even a change of clothing?" I was glad I had thought to ask for a washbasin - with no sinks, that was all I could think of to brush my teeth over other than the tub. And brushing my teeth over the tub didn't exactly appeal.   
  
"I shall see, Ma'am." said Manquarewen, leaving me at the stove before I had time to utter "Thank you." I waited for the water to boil, and took it to my room once it had done that. After a dozen or so more return trips for more water, the tub was finally full. I stripped out of my pajamas and climbed into the bath, which had settled at a pleasant temperature by now. My hips came up against the edges of the tub, but they had done that in my tub at home. It was quite a squeeze to fit my fat butt comfortably into the tub at home, too. I sighed and shifted position, waiting for Manquarewen to come with the soap. I didn't have to wait long before there was a knock at the door.   
  
"Ma'am Fiona? It is Manquarewen - may I come in?" I wasn't too fond of the idea of having her see me in the bath, but I figured that I had already made enough of an idiot of myself in front of her that it wouldn't really matter if she saw my naked girth, and besides, I needed the things she would be bringing me.   
  
"Please do!" I called to her. Manquarewen came in holding a decent sized wooden basket, which she immediately began extracting things from. She first pulled out two towels and two washcloths, which she set next to the tub where I could reach them.   
  
"Thank you for all your help, Lady Manquarewen." I was still having a bit of trouble adjusting to the whole Renaissance bit with calling people Lords and Ladies, but I was learning. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right?   
  
"You are welcome, Ma'am Fiona." Manquarewen replied, taking a fairly small glazed bowl that I assumed to be the washbasin I had asked for and placing it one the dresser next to the things she had brought for me earlier. After this, she pulled out a bar of what looked like homemade soap and placed it on top of the towels she had brought in. She then dug out a simple cotton shift.   
  
"I hope this will fit you, Ma'am Fiona. It was the only thing I could find that might." Manquarewen told me. "Oh, dear." She said, after a moment's pause. "I haven't offended you, have I, Ma'am?" I shook my head and smiled.  
  
"Not at all, Lady Manquarewen." I picked up the bar of soap and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled minty.   
  
"Thank you very much for all your help, Lady Manquarewen." I told her, "I deeply appreciate it."   
  
"You are quite welcome." Manquarewen told me, giving a little bow and walking out. I happily went on bathing. When I felt as clean as I could, considering the lack of shampoo and conditioner and whatnot, I stepped out of the tub and toweled myself dry. After this I stepped back behind the screen put my underwear back on, and then pulled the cotton shift Manquarewen had brought over my bra and panties. Fortunately, the shift was just a little bit of a squeeze to get into. I took the washbasin, dipped it into the tub, and carried it back to the dresser. I picked up the toothbrush and toothpaste Manquarewen had brought in for me.   
  
As I had noticed quite a few times before, these people were impossibly true to the Renaissance way of life - the toothbrush was made of bone, and the bristles were made of some sort of wiry animal hair. And the toothpaste came in a little bowl. I lifted the bowl to my nose and sniffed it - it smelled minty, but not the over-powering Colgate minty. Whether I like it or not, this seemed to be the only thing that was keeping me from tooth decay. I only hoped there was a cure for whatever disease I might get using them. I brushed my teeth, and was thankful to note that the effect was pretty much the same as my trusty Oral B toothbrush and Colgate. I set the toothbrush and toothpaste down beside the washbasin and picked up the comb Manquarewen had brought me.   
  
This comb was shaped so as to be useful as well as ornamental - not only could it quite effectively get the tangles out of my hair, but it also doubled as a hair ornament. I made a note of this and moved on to the final item, which was simply a scrap of fabric. I tied my hair up into a pony tail with this and surveyed myself in the mirror. I was still fat and ugly, of course, but now I was fat and ugly and dressed funny. Great. I turned around and looked at the tub, trying to figure out what to do with it. I cautiously tried to push the tub towards the balcony, but only succeeded in swishing the water around.  
  
I did the only other thing I could think of - I left it there. I set the iron pot under the bed, figuring it might come in handy some other time. I sat down on the bed and suddenly remembered that my pajama pants had pockets. I turned out these pockets, only to be a bit disappointed. I had only found a tube of Chapstick, two large safety pins, and two shoelaces. I laid these items on the bed and tried to figure out if they had any practical use, or if I should just toss them into whatever the hell the equivalent of a trashcan is here. I decided that the shoelaces might come in handy, as hairties if nothing else, and that I might as well keep the Chapstick since it wasn't melted. But what could I use the safety pins for?  
  
I moved around on the bed, trying to get comfortable. And then, it hit me that the safety pins had a very practical use after all. Under this cotton shift my thighs happened to rub together, which at home I usually solved with a pair of spandex. But these people definitely didn't seem to be the type to have a pair of spandex lying around. The only solution to this, it seemed, was to put on my pajama pants underneath the shift. Normally this would look incredibly stupid because the pant legs would show, but now I could use the safety pins and pins the pant legs up so that they wouldn't be seen. I did this, and became a slightly happier woman. I went off to find Manquarewen to bug her about a few more things, among them the location of Ye-Olden-Outhouse, the possibility of getting a pair of shoes as I didn't fancy spending my stay at Rivendell barefoot, and why couldn't I break with the whole Renaissance thing and just wear pants.   
  
A few minutes into my travels, I happened to bump into Airegolloin.   
  
"Hello, Lady Fiona." He greeted me politely.  
  
"Please, call me Ma'am." I told him, hoping the compromise would work as well with him as it had with Manquarewen.   
  
"Hello, Ma'm Fiona." He revised his former greeting. Arrgh. I guess everyone here was going to start calling me that. "I spoke to the Lord Elrond about you, and he wishes to speak with you after dinner tonight."  
  
"Er, thank you Lord Airegolloin." I told him, and then asked where I might find Manquarewen. As my luck would have it, she was on the other side of Rivendell. I thanked him and set off on my journey, not worrying about what to do with the rest of the day, figuring that finding Manquarewen would take up a good chunk of it.

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I never thought I would write an entire chapter about grooming. It shouldn't happen again, or so I hope. If it does, you have the right to send me hateful emails about wasting your time. Oh, and by the way, for all you grammar sticklers, I checked - "atlases" is the plural form of atlas.   
  
As always, you are quite welcome to send me your questions, comments, or philosophical ramblings.


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